Prison
by Intoxication-by-Flowers
Summary: It was just another day like any other. Boy x Boy.
1. Killing Vanilla

Don't own South Park. Viewer Discretion advised. Warning for some ugliness and sh-t up ahead.

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><p><strong><span>KILLING<span> VANILLA**

I've always hated my family. Just plain and simple, but I would never tell them that. They already know, but I don't say it aloud. They say my face was an open book, it still is. I hate it. Sometimes, I wish I could hide it, but it never works out. I swallow the small bit of chocolate, how weird it thickens when its melted. I have a melting point too. But I haven't broken down yet. To say that I really hate them, no, I can never truly hate them, I love them as a son would a father and a mother. Even if I did want them dead. I decided to play with my hair as a distraction, I heard the muffled noise through the rusted key hole. I heard something crash, its already been five minutes. Soon enough I was dragged into it even if I wasn't meant to be there to begin with. They acted like children.

They would ask me who was right, and either if i didn't choose him or her I would get my face bruised. They would scream when I didn't choose their side, and if I did, they would still smack me. Today, I decided to pick my father's side. I found out that she was wearing her wedding ring that moment. I didn't scream, I didn't yelp, or any noise, and they hated that. It no longer hurt, if I was used to it, it didn't hurt. But that sting of a ring or some jewelry always made a comeback. I remember how they would look at me,my father would scan at me, hissing at me. When I was eight, I wondered why I didn't look like my father, and only a little of my mother.

It was until I reached eleven when I figured out that my mom had an affair with this other man, blond hair, small spike at the tips. I met him before. James, was it? No, my father wasn't Richard, it was a stranger who slept with my mommy. I cringed, when it was about sex, and if it involved my father, I twitch. I was afraid when my mother touched me. I was always afraid, her sweet whispers when she tried to make me sleep, her kisses on my forehead and cheeks. It was unbearable. I was unstable. I couldn't do it, the last time she did that, I pushed her away. Luckly, I chewed my nails, so I would've scratched her.

Was it always like this? Having a family that couldn't stand to look at each other? No, it was usually metaphors and encouragement with my parents. But that was when I was three or something. I looked down at the small lines, or stripes as I prefer. Almost one each year when I found a the beauty of releasement in a form of slashing. It was the best way to escape, but it was close. I didn't like it. But I needed to do something. I felt my chest bubble up with fear and anxiety. I started to hyperventilate. On reflex, One hand went to pulling the locks of my dull-yellow hair, and one went to my neck, Digging the thin line of my nails into the skin. It was another escape, just like the cutting, it wasn't preferred.

Why was it a spaz that had a dark sense of humor? Maybe it's because I'm a pessimist. Or I just hated the world and all its inhabitants. Or maybe it's both. I wanted to leave, but where would I go? I just can't run to anybody, they hate me as much as I hate them. Maybe even more. They all hated the one that stood out, but they all loved the other blond that was exactly like him. Maybe it's because he spatted swears and he didn't. No one cared, about swearing, but when he shouted something like, "ARG!", or "NNGH!" it was considered annoying and disruptive. But when you hear,"SHIT!" or "COCK SUCKING ASS!" No one says a word, but a few chuckles. But that swearing-boy screamed more than him! And they said he was trying to mimic the boy, for crying out loud, the spaz was here before Tourettes!

He couldn't find recluse in coffee if it made the situation worse, no, until he found there was an odd taste in the daily brew, he spilled it in the sink. Along with his dinner. He didn't know the, 'Warm morning brew like the summer's rays' was actually crushed pills and black coffee. He always thought that was sugar. It made him wonder why he was so crazy and spazy when his parent weren't. Now, when he smelt coffee being made, it made his mouth water and shake, he craved for that bitter taste. Still has, in fact just mentioning it made him want the sugar all too himself. The taste of creamy vanilla within the darkness of that black liquid. It made him crave it, but his stomach disagreed with his tastes.

Coming home from school wasn't they best thing, school wasn't any better, just more people, that's the difference. When he came home, it was quiet. He wanted to call out, but stayed silent. It was when a foul smell came to his senses, then he heard it, the panicking. He heard panting and rushed breathes. He walked into the kitchen and froze. There she was, holding a broken coffee mug, face bashed in, bags scattered around her, and smudges of remaining blood in the tiles of the floor. Then his mouth was covered, and he heard a whisper,"If you tell anyone you little bitch, I'll cut you and make sure you won't be found." Go ahead, he thought. No one will care. But his body said the opposite, he shook vigorously, and nodded. "Good. Now get the bags and the shovel, start digging."

The one thing about having a fence and having neighbors that don't care, they won't mind if we made a garden with my mom's body. There was already a big place to set her at. A garden bed, but we would have to cut her up if needed her to fit. He cringed, they're more than one garden beds. He went inside and told his father. He held a calm look and nodded. He was going to the store, to buy flower seeds. He change out of his bloody clothes and told me to clean up. I grabbed a scrubby and bleached the hell out of the floor. Grabbing two gloves, he cut her up into several pieces. Hearing every tear and rip, he didn't realize the floor covered in crimson. He felt tears shimmer down.

Taking deep breaths, he grabbed the arm and put it into the first garden bed. Then kept going. It was taking a long time, tearing through the skin and undressing her. It wasn't a sight to see for the Tweek boy, it was then he realized. His father was gone an awful long time. He was already sweating, and he put all the evidence and other tools into trash bags, almost filled one, so it wouldn't look suspicious. He had to clean his room to make it look like he had an excuse. He wasn't the best liar, but at least this was a hint of truth. So technically, he wasn't lying. He came back. Two bags, both small ones. Alcohol and seeds. He was stumbling. "I'll be upstairs." Hissing his s's and holding out his vowels.

He was done. Going to the bathroom, he stared at his reflection, wiping the sweat from his forehead and some tears. He mouthed and a sense of relief washed over him. 'I'm Tweek and I just helped my dad bury my mom.' he repeated the words until he felt something come up, meeting his friend the toilet. It was then he had another 'conversation' and went to bed. Like nothing happened.


	2. Death By Chocolate

Don't own South Park. Alright this is where things start taking another turn, it will be rated M soon. Short as always. Yada Yada Yada. Warning: Not for faint of heart, some more sh-t with a hint of f-ck.

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><p><strong><span>DEATH<span> BY CHOCOLATE**

It as already three and I smell the fresh lit cigarette in my room, I growled. It was something that always bugged him into waking up, usually it was figh- but not anymore. No more, anger that rushed into him quickly dispersed.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. He tasted the aftertaste of vomit in his mouth, he forgotten to go get mouthwash at the store again. Lazily, he got up to go to the bathroom sink to wash out the remaining taste. It was metallic and burning, but he had gotten used to it, but not early in the goddamn morning.

As he headed to the bathroom, he saw his dad in living room, smoking the place up. The T.V wasn't on, he was just sitting there, smoking and staring at the blurry reflection. Why, honestly he didn't fucking know, he isn't an asshole's keeper. But if he was, he'd say that Richard was breaking, but Tweek wasn't for sure.

If anything, Richard was different from any of the folks down here, than again, he might be one of the 'normal' ones. Tweek can't be too sure, it doesn't matter. He needs w=to wash his mouth from the horrid aftertaste, as he turned he heard it speak. "Tweek, c'mere."

He didn't want to, but he ended over there anyways. Something's off, he could tell. Richard was staring at him weirdly, he petted Tweek. It felt nice, but it made him feel uneasy. "Sit down, boy." He patted the seat next to him. Tweek started to twitch, damn, not the best time to this, he growled to himself. He sat next to him, in an awkward fashion.

An arm wrapped around him, Richard's hand on his shoulder. He wasn't sure, what was goi-"Tweek, did I ever tell you your mother cheated on me?" He didn't respond. He already knew, but he didn't know if Richard knows he knew. Silence was the best option.

"Tweek, answer when I'm speaking." His tone was neutral, he liked it that way. He spoke in a stutter,"N-no sir." The hand on his shoulder tightened for a half second, then it slid down. It went to his arm, and he was pushed into his father's chest. Smoke and cheap cologne fouled his nose. Oh god, he hated the mixture of the two.

"You didn't? I'm surprised that you could try to lie to your father." From what Tweek had to say was that Richard wasn't his father. A stranger with no name is. "Yeah, your mother cheated on me with another man." Tweek wanted to say a sarcastic comment, going something like this,'With another man, shit, I thought it would be another women.' But he stayed silent.

He was released from his chest and pushed to the ground. He choked on his breath,"Now, you listen boy. I loved your mother, but it seemed that she didn't love me that well as I thought she did."

Tweek responded,"B-but she d-did." Why did you say that, you idiot! Shut up! His mind cried, but apparently Tweek didn't listen. Richard stared at him with weirder look. "Speaking back? Have more guts than your mother did, then again they were on the floor." That's it. Tweek launched at the man, successfully taking him down. But there was flaw. What could Tweek do now? Time stood for a minute.

Think, man, think!

But his mind was interrupted to a punch in the jaw. He was grabbed by the hem of his shirt, "What the fuck were you thinking, you little shit? Think that'd you could take care of your daddy too, just like your mother?" No, he was trying to blame this on Tweek. Does he Richard actually think that Tweek was mentally unstable to believe in that shit dripping from his mouth? Fuck, he might as well be, he couldn't blame coffee, no one will believe in that.

"I didn't fucking kill her," he spat. "You did." Richard laughed. He got off of Tweek, his hand sliding to his thighs. How disgusting. "You just like your mother, you almost have that same look she gives me when she knows I'm right." Richard licked his lips, Tweek shivered. No, he did not like this at all, where it's going, he knew what was going to happen.

Richard leaned down, "Do you know what happens right after me and her fight, boy?" Tweek shook his head. He really didn't. But he didn't want to know either. As Richard's face came closer, he blacked out.

He awoke in his bed, the taste of vomit clean from his mouth and replaced to something bittersweet. And cigarettes. Oh god, he didn't. He pushed the thin cloth from his chest, which was bare. His pants still on. His ass in check too. Thank god, if there was he was starting to sound like Christophe. He felt a bruising pain, he went to the bathroom. His eyes, bags and dark rings. Dead Hazel stared back in the reflection, pupils darted to the source of pain.

It was a bite mark, not just any bite mark. A hickey, a faint wetness still there. It was fresh. Fuck, this isn't what he wanted. All he wanted to do was wash the damn taste from his mouth. _But at least the taste was sweet. _Whoa. No, don't even go there. Was it because of the danger rush of his mother being killed that made him think that? He knew he was gay. And he knew his father, wasn't his father at all. He was just another man. Just another man, living in the same house. He licked his lips hungerly.

He knew he was getting himself into serious shit, but what could Tweek say? He loved the rush. He's tired, he'll get over it in the morning. He was just so goddamn desperate. No, your just a horny ass, that's what you are. Fucking moron. Alright, he decided, he was finally losing it. I mean, seriously, having a mental argument and losing to yourself? Time for sleep, that's what he needed, more sleep.


End file.
